Hades In Flight
by Deathofme
Summary: [Post DH, not epilogue compliant] Hermione has more than she gambled for after tricking Death into releasing its hold on Snape. For one, Severus does not want to be alive, and for another, he does not want to be found.
1. Gambling

**A/N Many thanks to Vaughn, who beta-ed the first two chapters (though she may not recognize them now), and to WriterMerrin who picked up the beta hat and makes sure I make sense. :)**

**This is DH compliant but is _not _Epilogue compliant.**

* * *

CHAPTER ONE—Gambling

"_He was fiercely possessive, gloated over every new arrival, and demanded a head-count from Charon at the close of each day. Never did he allow any of his subjects to escape. Nor did he allow a mortal to visit Tartarus, and return. There were only two exceptions to this rule, and those are other stories."_

-"The Greek Gods," Evslin, Evslin and Hoopes

* * *

Hermione knelt on the floor of the Shrieking Shack as if she were before a sacred altar. Instead of a deity or a shrine, she was in fact gazing upon the pale corpse of Severus Snape. A pool of viscous blood surrounded him, shining black in the moonlight.

Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, 'Mione, let's go."

She shrugged his hand away. "_Don't_, Ron."

"This is getting scary. Let's go."

"We have to take his body back."

Ron looked at her incredulously, "What? You've gone mad."

"We have to. It's only right."

Harry had declared Snape's innocence and true alliance to the survivors of the war. It had caught many off guard, and some were still finding it difficult to let go of their suspicions. However, Snape was easily forgiven dead, and as a martyr. Harry had only shown Snape's memories to Ron and Hermione. Hermione had run from the room, sick, with Ron following close behind.

"He should be buried with all the others."

Ron rubbed his arms, looking around nervously. "Can't we get someone else to do it? Can't it wait 'til morning?"

"You're such a coward, Ron!"

He looked at her indignantly. "Well do _you _want to touch him?"

He saw her waver, uncertainty written all over her face. Ron nodded triumphantly.

"See? Even you don't want to do it, and you're the one who's so keen on this notion anyway. Come on 'Mione. If you can bring him back up to the castle, I'll help you, but if not, then let's just go."

Hermione looked at the still body, trembling. She reached into her robes for her wand and breathed deeply through her nose. _Mobilicorpus. Mobilicorpus. Mobilicorpus… _The incantation was on the tip of her tongue, but her throat was closed up and she couldn't find her voice. Ron watched her expectantly, and she noticed her hand was beginning to shake.

"Someone will get him in the morning, 'Mione, I'm sure."

Her nerve shattered, and she backpedaled away from the corpse, tripping over her legs. She grabbed Ron's proffered arm, quickly hauled herself to her feet and ran out of the Shack. She was still shaking beside the Whomping Willow when Ron caught up with her and laid a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Come on, let's go back up."

"Don't _touch_ me."

Hermione threw his arm off of her, ignoring the hurt look in his eyes. She suddenly found all thought of human contact hateful. The cheerful noises of celebration from the castle, faint, but persistent, grated at her ears. Hermione didn't want to go back to the ruins of Hogwarts where people were reveling in their victory. She could almost feel the smothering of bodies pressing in against her.

"Hermione, what's wrong with you?"

Hermione backed away from him, her wand out and pointed at him. He looked frightened and didn't make a move towards her. She especially couldn't stomach his touch tonight.

"Just go. Go, Ron. I want to be alone."

Hermione hugged her arms and began to trudge across the school grounds. She heard Ron's lumbering footsteps behind her and whipped her head around with such a fierce look that he froze on the spot. Reassured he wouldn't follow her, she continued on her way again. He let her go.

* * *

Hermione walked blindly for several minutes, numbly watching grass and dirt roll by under her feet. She was forced to stop and look up when she felt something scratch her face. Hermione brushed away the sharp twig and realized she was standing at the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. It inspired no fear for her; she pushed onwards.

The actions of picking her way through foliage and gnarled branches were soothing in their monotonous repetition, and Hermione found herself calming down as she walked deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest. She was left undisturbed, and she almost forgot there were wild, magical creatures that lived in the forest. Only once was the tranquility broken by the sound of centaur hooves drumming against the leafy floor.

"Oof!"

Hermione tripped, falling to the forest floor and skinning the heels of her hands. She looked behind her to see what she had fallen over and shrieked.

It was a body.

Hermione scrambled away from the body, grasping frantically for a branch to pull herself up with. When she had calmed down from her initial fright, she realized it was the body of a Death Eater. The man lay still, his hands contorted in gestures of pain.

Looking around, she realized the forest was in tumult here: branches were snapped off from trees, dead leaves and dirt kicked up on the ground, and general signs of chaos. Hermione realized this clearing must have been the grounds for the final battle between Harry and Voldemort. She made her way cautiously around, as if afraid that any sudden movements would resurrect an evil being.

She saw a few wands scattered about on the forest floor and ripped pieces of cloth stuck to pointed branches. Curious about the wands, Hermione crouched to the floor and pushed aside the dead leaves and debris, hoping to see one of the abandoned wands in its entirety. As she brushed away some of the dirt, her fingers skimmed across something smooth and polished. Intrigued, Hermione dug around and saw a glimmer of black and an engraved vertex.

Her breathing quickened.

Reverently, Hermione teased up the object from the packed dirt and, having freed it, let it rest in the palm of her hand. Although it had some dirt caked on it, it was still recognizable. The Resurrection Stone.

Hermione's hand shook with the temptation to turn it three times. She curled her hand into a fist instead, so she wouldn't give in. Clutching it to her chest, Hermione walked away from the battleground, thinking of making her way out of the forest, and taking the stone back up to Hogwarts. However, with every step she took, Hermione felt her eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Soon she found herself leaning against a tree and then curling up at its base among its roots and falling asleep.

The Stone was still clutched tightly in one hand.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes, and at first was not sure she had succeeded in waking or if she were in a dream.

Hermione turned on the spot, looking left, right, up and down. She was surrounded by blankness, an indomitable white and absence of form. It was hard to tell that she was standing, or that there were directions, when there was truly nothing where she was. Hermione looked around hopelessly; she didn't understand… and yet, she knew perfectly well where she was,

_You weren't supposed to come with that stone._

The sound came from nowhere and everywhere, resounding from the nothingness around her and echoing inside of her chest.

_Leave it behind when you leave. You _will_ be able to leave._

Hermione's hand clenched over the Resurrection Stone. For some reason, every fiber of her being was telling her _do not let go, do not let go_…

_No? Why won't you leave it behind? Why aren't you leaving?_

Hermione looked around her, licking her lips nervously.

"I can't."

_Can't?_

"Won't. Not empty-handed."

She could feel it, whatever it was, pondering. The blankness around her seemed to shift, as if a figure were stirring the white mist. She clutched the stone to her chest, daring to peek at it through her fingers.

_Very well, you'll have one favour granted you in return for the stone, and then you will leave._

Hermione's mouth went dry. This was it. This was why she had held onto the stone. She needed to do this right. She had to do this correctly.

"O-okay."

_What will you ask for?_

"I… "

Hermione squeezed her mouth and her eyes shut, thinking hard. She had to do this properly; if she revealed too much, then all would be ruined. She had to show her cards one by one, revealing her trump at the end. Otherwise, she would leave with nothing, or worse yet, she could be stuck in the blankness.

"I wish to be able to repay all my debts."

It was almost as if the white mists chuckled.

_Very well then, though everything you require, you already possess within your own resourcefulness._

"Is it granted? Will you grant it?"

_Yes, you will be able to repay all your debts._

"Then you have to bring Severus Snape back to life."

Everything stilled. Hermione almost wanted to cry out in shock at how static everything became, and how bold she had been. This had to work, this had to work…

_That is impossible._

"Why?"

Hermione clutched the stone harder, afraid invisible hands would try to take it by force.

_He has been avoiding his own imminent end for far too long. He is long overdue for collection._

"But then, you'll go back on your word, your favour."

Everything was silent. Praying she was doing the right thing, Hermione pressed on.

"I owe him. I owe him a life debt. I can't repay him unless he's alive."

_A life debt._

"It's a binding magical contract! When one wizard saves another's life, then the other—"

_Spare the details. You have been very sly, but very clever. Leave the stone behind. Go back to the waking world. Your favour is kept._

Hermione stood for a moment in shock, she couldn't believe her ploy had worked, and in a daze, she dropped the stone from her hand. It fell, cutting through the blank white like an obsidian knife, and Hermione could not see to which depths it had fallen. She found the mists thickening around her, blackening, and her heart seized in terror.

But then her eyes opened, and she hit her head against the trunk of the tree, jerking it back in surprise. Groaning, Hermione felt the back of her head and the ridges of tree bark. She looked at her hands and saw the stone was gone. Morning's light peeked in through the treetops and bathed her in soft light.

A thrilling cocktail of triumph and terror sent an electric _frisson _through her and she leapt to her feet. She had to go back! She had to go and see!

Hermione tore through the trees, ignoring the branches whipping in her face, and frantically trying to find her way out.

* * *

TBC 


	2. Paying Our Dues

**A/N Re-uploaded and corrected. Betaed by the wonderful WriterMerrin - my thanks!**

CHAPTER TWO—Paying Our Dues

* * *

"_Although she never forgot how he had frightened her when he came charging out of that hole in his chariot, she admired the lofty set of his black-robed figure, the majestic shoulders, the great impatient hands, and his gloomy black eyes._"

-"The Greek Gods," Evslin, Evslin and Hoopes

* * *

Her greatest fear when she first received her letter from Hogwarts was that her parents would not believe her. It had been founded at first, they looked at her a little stunned, but then glazed over with condescending understanding. Such a brilliant child, their daughter, they almost forgot children had such whimsical fantasies. But when a representative from the Ministry of Magic had Apparated onto their doorstep, the Grangers had to accept magic into their lives.

Hermione looked a little hesitantly at the Leaky Cauldron, but with a determined breath, she drew back her shoulders, lifted her head up and walked confidently in. Her parents went shopping somewhere nearby, having arranged a time to meet her again outside of the Leaky Cauldron. The Grangers fretted the first ten minutes, anxiously watching their daughter leave, and then decided they could do no more than wait, and tried to calm themselves. They had to let her go.

Diagon Alley had, suffice to say, frightened her. She was used to being independent and going places on her own, but Diagon Alley was so _different_. It was so strange, and the people crowding around her were eccentrically dressed and conversed with terms she was unfamiliar with. What was a Puffskein or Pepper-up Potion? Hermione tried to battle her way through the crowd, there were so many people, and only succeeded in getting lost.

Flourish and Blotts… Flourish and Blotts… she had to find the wizarding bookstore. Hermione could barely see any storefronts, and so she didn't know where she was or where to go. Biting back a frustrated scream, she felt sharp tears spring to her eyes when someone elbowed her in the side. Not so much as a "sorry, love" or backwards glance. Hermione furiously rubbed at her eyes and tried to find a break in the mass of people.

She found her break a few more steps to her left. There was a road in between two stores that lead to what looked like another shopping district. No one had gone down there. Hermione neatly sidestepped and breathed in relief. Finally! She had some space to herself and a breather in which she would be able to reorganize her thoughts.

Hermione had absentmindedly walked down the dingy old road, puzzling over how she could find the store, and thinking she should find someone and ask for directions. Maybe the storeowners in this quieter place might know…

"You look lost, dearie."

Hermione turned to the voice beside her, beaming. A godsend! The smile quickly faded from her face once she saw the person addressing her. An ugly, filthy crone eyed her greedily, chuckling during her scrutiny.

"Wandered away from your dear mum, have you?"

"N-n-no… "

Hermione shrieked with fright when the crone grabbed her wrist. The old witch cackled just like they did in picture films, but Hermione felt her situation was more perilous than any Hollywood concoction. She could feel the odious creature's breath smothering her face. Hermione tugged, trying to get back her hand, but the witch laughed harder and her grip held firm. Hermione's mouth opened in a silent scream. She frantically looked at her surroundings for help and realized her grievous lapse in judgment. The alleyway road she had walked down was the seediest, most suspicious looking alley she had ever seen. All the buildings looked as if they would crumble, and most of their windows were boarded up. The few stores that existed looked highly distasteful and the few wizards walking about were cold-mannered or drunken.

"You're still so young—I wonder how old you are? Tell me, pet, have you started your moon cycles yet?"

Hermione looked frantically at the witch, still tugging at her hand.

"Let me go!"

"So much I could do… with your mooning's blood."

Hermione let out a horrified gasp.

"My blood?"

A shadow passed over Hermione and the old witch. The witch's eyes looked upwards to a spot somewhere above Hermione's head. Hermione could see the witch scowl and felt an ominous weight on both her shoulders.

"Let go of the girl's hand."

An even, deep voice from somewhere above her head intoned in a sibilant rumble. The voice was commanding and dangerously patient. The witch sneered up at the voice daringly, but at a second glare, quickly let go of Hermione's hand and skulked by the wall.

Hermione felt her rescuer's hands tighten, painfully, on her shoulders and was forcefully steered back up the road in the direction of Diagon Alley. She twisted her head behind to see a tall man with black hair that hung to his shoulders. He scowled back at her, his eyes flashing dangerously, and her heart gave a startled jump.

"Idiot girl, what were you doing in Knockturn Alley?"

His voice had not softened one iota from their encounter with the old witch. If anything, it had grown more menacing, and Hermione's mouth went dry with fear. His black eyes bore into hers mercilessly, as if demanding an explanation to her foolish behavior. She could only gawk back at him silently. She didn't understand any of this. Was this evil place Knockturn Alley?

She realized the confusing, raucous din of people had grown louder, and turned to see she was back at Diagon Alley. She looked back to her rescuer, frightened, and his face displayed no warmth or sympathy for her plight.

'Muggle-born."

He muttered unkindly, as if it explained everything. He gave her a contemptuous sneer and was about to walk away, releasing his hold on her shoulders. Hermione stared, stunned, before she unwillingly croaked, "Flourish and Blotts?"

He glared at her, a dramatic eyebrow quirking upwards into an elegant bow. When she wouldn't, couldn't, continue (her face was chalk white), he gestured to the street in front of her with a sharp nod of his head.

"Three stores to your left."

He gave her one last curious look, the eyebrow still inquisitive, before disappearing back down Knockturn Alley. His black robes swirled around him, lightly kissing the ground as he left. Hermione tore her eyes away a few seconds afterward, still a little too stunned to speak, and plunged headlong into the crowd. Sure enough, after counting three storefronts to her left, she found herself on the cheery, welcoming threshold of Flourish and Blotts.

Needless to say, Hermione was properly gobsmacked when she discovered her dark saviour was her school Potions master. There seemed to be no acknowledgement or recognition when she first saw him at the school, and it quickly quelled any desire within her to speak to him. Or even, to thank him.

She learned he was of an unpleasant disposition during their first Potions class. From what she learned from her fellow students, Slytherins didn't like Gryffindors and Gryffindors didn't like Slytherins. The Boy Who Lived couldn't seem to do anything but aggravate the prejudice further, and the Potions Master got nastier and more irascible with each lesson. Still, Hermione worked as hard as she could to prove herself in that class. She wanted Professor Snape to know she was intelligent and that she wasn't the stupid girl he had taken her for when she had wandered into Knockturn Alley. Every essay or assignment she received, grudgingly graded with top marks, was a small victory.

It hurt the first time he called her a 'little know-it-all.'

The scathing remarks and unfair treatment escalated when she befriended Harry. It seemed Professor Snape dragged her into every incident of his Neville-baiting, docking off points for either helping or hindering him. Harry and Ron always looked at her mutinously when she defended Professor Snape, and sometimes she wondered if it was indeed worth her time. He could be so unfair! And so _hateful_ but she then remembered how he had helped her in Knockturn Alley, and it always gave her pause to think. She read up on what sort of magic could be performed with a young girl's "mooning" blood and it was all very dark and very disturbing. Professor Snape had saved her from a sticky encounter to be sure.

She stopped feeling kind towards him after an incident in her fourth year when Draco Malfoy hexed her teeth to rapidly grow. Snape had cruelly said—oh, she could even remember his exact words now…

"I see no difference."

Wounded to the core, Hermione ran into the hospital wing and had to try her very best to fight back her tears. Madam Pomfrey shrunk her teeth, and Hermione resolved to give Professor Snape no more respect than he was due as a teacher.

Although, she couldn't help gloating and saying "I told you so" when Snape was revealed to be a part of the Order and didn't turn out to be the evil Death Eater Ron and Harry had expected him to be.

It was because of her encounters with him during the summer of the Order of the Phoenix's rebirth, however, that she started to regret his close involvement. It was one of the most confusing summers of her life.

* * *

It had taken some convincing, and fast-talking on Hermione's part, for Molly to allow her to leave Grimmauld Place. She insisted that she needed some fresh air, having been cooped up for the first few weeks of summer. Molly had protested, saying that things weren't very safe, but Hermione managed to break her down and allow her a small trip to Diagon Alley. Just for fresh air and the chance to visit the apothecary. Molly finally relented, and Hermione cheerfully set out for the day. Poor Mrs. Weasley probably thought Hermione was getting potions supplies for school. Actually, she was on Fred and George's errand. She had been looking for something to do in Diagon Alley and overheard them discussing ingredients they needed to purchase.

"Mum would kill us if she knew what we were up to!"

"And what _are_ you up to?"

Fred and George both startled, whipping around to see Hermione regarding them dryly from the doorway. They breathed sighs of relief and regarded her suspiciously as she made her way over to them.

"Training to be a prefect already, are you?"

Hermione glared at George, and then stuck out her tongue at him childishly.

"Pooh to you. No really, what are you up to?"

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes!"

Hermione groaned, of course…

"We've been experimenting, and we've run out of some ingredients. Don't know how we'll get them into the house though."

"Don't tell me it's illegal-"

Fred rolled his eyes and put on airs of being hurt.

"Why, Hermione, we would never ever break the rules. But frankly, it's not illegal, it's just that we wouldn't even be able to bring in celery tops into the house without mum confiscating them, because she thought we were up to something."

"Shouldn't she be used to it by now? You two are always up to something… "

George slung a comradely arm around her shoulders and put on an effected swagger.

"Aye, that's the spirit, give'em bally old pepper and vinegar, that's the ticket!"

Hermione tried to suppress a giggle and failed.

"Look… I'm going to Diagon Alley-"

Fred's eyebrows jumped up.

"Blimey, George! She's consorting with us!"

"Perfect _Prefect_ Granger!"

"Oh shut up you two, I don't have to help you, you know-"

Fred threw himself at her feet, desperately clinging to her arms and trying his best to sound like one of Mrs. Weasley's paperback romances.

"Dearest, fair Hermione, comeliest witches of all the land, I am not worthy to even kiss the tops of your shoes…"

Hermione wheezed with laughter, tears coming to her eyes. She spluttered, "Comely? Oh, really… "

"… I shall fling myself from the highest cliff for the mere whiff of your perfumed hair-"

"Now really, stop it. What do you boys need?"

Fred jumped to his feet, dusting off his robes. He and George were back in business mode, guns blazing, and mischievous grins on their faces.

"Ashwinder eggs, a half dozen. Off you go now."

Hermione allowed herself to be shooed out the door by the Weasley twins. She stopped at the doorway, giving them a highly amused and curious look, before they shooed her into the hallway and closed the room door. She looked up to the heavens, as if for help, and then shook her head, chuckling.

"Ashwinder eggs… of all the bloody things… "

* * *

Hermione walked into the apothecary and took a moment to close her eyes and slowly drink in all the smells. She loved this, about the apothecary and the potions stores cupboard at school. The air was dry, slightly dusty and held the myriad of sour, tangy, delicate and subtle musks. She let her gaze roam around the bins and barrels full of ingredients happily, before going over to the eggs. She might as well enjoy the small outing as much as she could.

Fully engrossed in admiring the fwooper eggs, some bright pink and some neon lime, Hermione didn't notice the tinkling of door chimes as someone new entered the store. The slight displacement of air and space registered in the back of her mind, but she only moved some misplaced hair out of her eyes in acknowledgement.

"Ah, your package, sir."

Severus Snape hadn't expected anyone else to be in the apothecary and was mildly surprised to see a girl by the far wall. His eyes narrowed when he realized it was Hermione Granger. That bushy hair would be the end of her. He scowled at nothing in particular, waiting for the storeowner to come back with his order. She was one of the last persons he wanted to see.

Hermione felt she had dawdled enough and finally reached for a carton of Ashwinder eggs. She ran an appreciative fingertip over their smooth shells and turned to see a tall figure standing by the apothecary counter.

Hermione almost dropped the eggs on the floor, and Severus Snape only sneered back.

"P-Professor!"

"Miss Granger."

He acknowledged icily and turned his attentions back to the counter front. Hermione cowed and slunk back behind him to wait for her turn at the counter. He was ignoring her. That had to be much better than having him pick on her.

"Interesting extra-curricular activities you're partaking in, Miss Granger?"

Ah, Merlin. She had thought too soon.

"S-Sir?"

For an awful moment she wondered if he knew about Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, but then banished the thought as ridiculous. He turned his head, his shoulders angled down towards her in a violent diagonal. He looked at her coolly, his gaze pinning her down as if he were a hawk, and she, a tiny frightened mouse. His tone was biting and sardonic.

"Your purchase, it is clearly not something required by fifth-year Hogwarts students taking potions. In fact, there is no potion set in the curriculum that requires the very item you're holding in your hands."

He then permitted himself to gaze imperiously at the bright orange and pink eggs in her hands. She had to will them not to tremble. An unpleasant smirk curved upwards from the right hand corner of his mouth. His eyes were laughing coldly at her.

"While it does not surprise me that you continue to skirt the line of appropriate conduct, unfortunately influenced as you are by your poor choice in peers, it does surprise me that you would choose such a clumsy, ham-handed method to achieve your dubious means. Perhaps I have thought too highly of you, Miss Granger. You sadly epitomize the lesser Gryffindor qualities."

Hermione felt her face colour and grow very hot. Her mouth had fallen open, and before she could say anything she would regret, she angrily snapped it shut. Her ears were burning too, now, she had never felt more embarrassed in her life. Love potions! Snape thought she was trying to brew _love potions_. Hermione looked down at the treacherous ingredient in her hands and thought they did not look so innocuous now. The main ingredient in _love potions_…

"Not very subtle, is it?"

"Professor, this—"

"As the school term has not yet started, I cannot remove house points. However, be warned that Gryffindor house will lose a pre-emptive twenty-five points the first school day, and it will be fifty points each time I see any evidence of your work. A hundred if I find the potion."

Hermione was growing angry now, and she wrenched her lips apart,

"Sir, that's not fair, I-"

"Neither is it fair to your unsuspecting victim."

The shop owner returned with a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and placed it on the counter. Snape was still gleefully watching Hermione with a sneer on his face before taking his package and placing seven galleons on the counter. He gathered his robes around him in a voluminous swirl and addressed her mockingly.

"Really, Miss Granger, _Ashwinder eggs_… "

And with a smart pivot of his heel, he left the store.

Hermione stood, shaking, her face still bright red. How dare he… how _dare_ he insinuate that of her! How dare he laugh at her and say all those poisonous things and could even think she'd _do_ such a thing—

"If you break those, you'll be paying for them."

Hermione looked up, snapped out of her trembling rage. She followed the shop owner's gaze back to her hands and saw they shook violently, the Ashwinder eggs rattling in the carton. She quickly placed them on the counter so she wouldn't drop them and willed herself to calm down.

Hermione numbly handed the shop owner six Sickles, watching him silently as he wrapped the eggs in brown paper and handed the package to her. She barely heard him say, "come again," and when she walked out of the apothecary and into the open street, she could hear nothing around her. There was a muffled, angry buzzing in her ears, borne from her anger and upset. How dare he? How _dare he?_

She glared resentfully at the eggs and thought that Fred and George had better have a good explanation as to why they needed them.

In the blindness of her anger, Hermione didn't realize she was walking right into someone's path, until she connected solidly with an immobile body. Her nose smarted painfully, and she fell to the ground, sprawled at the figure's feet.

She looked up and, to her horror, saw Macnair — the executioner from the Ministry and Death Eater to boot. He had been ordered to kill Buckbeak in her third year, and in one frantic moment Hermione feared he recognized her. But no, that was impossible; he had never seen her. He couldn't know who she was.

Just as Hermione had gathered her wits together, ready to pick herself up, Macnair's foot lifted from the ground. Everything that happened next, happened slowly, and Hermione gazed up at him terror-struck, not fully registering what was happening. Macnair locked eyes with her and, never breaking the stare, no emotion whatsoever on his face, he brought his foot down on Hermione's small hand and _crushed_. It was only when she suddenly felt the white fire of her bones breaking, did Hermione cry out. She looked up at Macnair in horror, a wet wail keening from her throat.

Hermione's wand had fallen out of her pocket, and she reached blindly for it, only to watch it be kicked away by Macnair's other foot. When all his weight transferred to the foot crushing her hand, Hermione's sob tore from her throat. A sound that was agony, pain, fear and pleading wrapped in a guttural moan.

"So, it's the Mudblood Granger. My, my, and I hear so much about you."

Macnair twirled his wand meaningfully in his right hand.

"I've always enjoyed Muggle-baiting."

"Y-you can't."

Hermione could see coloured lights dancing in front of her eyes. The only thing stopping her from screaming was the feeling that she was going to throw up.

"I can't?"

"P-people… bro-broad daylight."

Macnair lifted up his foot and released Hermione's hand. Tears were streaming down her face and she howled with fresh pain, gathering her abused hand and holding it against her chest. It sent white-hot fire emanating outwards.

"There are far too many people for anyone to notice anything. We're off to the side, completely inconspicuous."

Hermione feared Macnair was right. She had bumped into him between two stores. They were standing (in her case—sitting) in a small alcove created by the two buildings. Hermione glared back, despite her sinking heart. She could not let him win.

"P-people will sti-still se-ee. You c-can't… do… an-anything. Just you… t-try."

She glared at him and could see him turn the thought over in his mind. He was beginning to lose confidence in his assured innocence, and Hermione leapt on her chance.

"You'll b-be in… s-such trouble… "

Macnair looked up at her, at her tear-streaked face, at the hand she was cradling. It was inflamed, angry red and patches of white, flopping limply and oozing blood from some broken nails. There was no doubt she was visibly injured. She could go wailing about him to any passerby and he would look guilty. Suddenly, Macnair scowled. He'd made a mistake, not thinking this through.

Hermione's eyes widened when she saw him scowl. He was weighing his options… and she knew they were about how best to keep her quiet. Hermione tried inching away from him, trying to find a good way to rush into the crowd. Where was her bleeding wand? She had to move fast, before Macnair decided the worst.

"Don't move."

He snarled, pointing his wand at her. She could see in his eyes that he had decided keeping her silent would compensate for any trouble he would encounter in making her "disappear." Hermione's heart leapt into her throat as he roughly grabbed her shoulder. He was going to Apparate them both! Her mouth opened in a scream—

When suddenly Macnair dropped to the ground.

Hermione looked up, shocked, to see Snape lowering his wand. Red sparks still fading away from its tip. Snape gazed at Macnair's body coolly before bending down and picking something up from the ground. It was Hermione's wand. He tossed it to her and spat, "Idiot girl!"

Snape brusquely walked over to Macnair's body and hauled it up from the ground. He pointed his wand at Macnair's face and muttered, "_Ennervate_." Macnair's eyes blinked sluggishly, and before he could regain his composure, Snape then quickly uttered, "_Obliviate!_"

His wand flashed and Macnair blinked stupidly, his eyes glassy. Quickly, Snape pushed Macnair into the crowd, Macnair propelled forward by the bodies pushing around him. Snape looked at Hermione, still on the ground, still cradling her hand, and for a moment he looked defeated. He firmly grasped her under the armpit of her uninjured arm and hauled her to her feet, ignoring her protesting cries of pain.

"It will be painful, but we must Apparate away from here. Do you understand?"

Hermione was beginning to see white flashes in front of her eyes; she was close to fainting. Frowning, Snape tapped his wand against her injured arm, muttering an incantation, and the pain lessened. Hermione gulped. Her hand still felt like it was on fire and it throbbed, but some of her nausea had gone away.

"You must hold tightly onto my arm now, quickly."

The second he felt Hermione squeeze his arm, Severus Disapparated them both away from Diagon Alley and Macnair.


	3. A Tense Exchange

**A/N Unbeta-ed as of yet. The Life Debt. And a kiss.**

CHAPTER THREE—A Tense Exchange

* * *

_"After the first few days of haste and brutality and strangeness, he began to treat her very gently, and with great kindness." _

-"The Greek Gods," Evslin, Evslin and Hoopes

* * *

When Hermione opened her eyes, she didn't realize she had shut them, she saw that they were in a deserted London street right outside 12 Grimmauld Place. Snape beckoned for her to enter the gate, which she did, and to then sit on the grass of the front yard. Past the entry gate, they were protected from muggle eyes. 

"Can you unfurl your hand?"

Hermione silently shook her head, determined not to sob in front of him, but finding hot tears gushing fast from her eyes.

Snape frowned as he examined it, kneeling beside her. He had to gently coax her hand away from the protective hollow of her shoulder. His touch was feather light, and he cupped her small hand in his. Gingerly, he tried to unfold her fingers with gentle force, which elicited a sharp cry from Hermione.

He frowned, and then brought out his wand. The tip of it traced the contours of her hand as he uttered a low incantation; the spell repeating smoothly in the undercurrent of his voice, flowing like liquid. Hermione could feel the bones in her hand begin to knit together and her tears stopped. After several rounds of the wand tip roaming her hand, Snape gently pried open her fingers and folded them flat. The wand tip only traced up and down her fingers and she felt them straighten and mend.

"It should have healed cleanly. Can you move it?"

Hermione flexed her fingers experimentally, and when she felt no pain, she curled it into a tight fist and slowly re-opened it. Snape seemed satisfied and stowed his wand away. He gestured to Grimmauld Place with a sharp nod of his head.

"Come, I'll return you to Molly."

"P-Professor—"

Hermione looked at him fearfully, afraid the unexpected civility would vanish if she spoke. He looked impatient, but there was no annoyance or malice on his face, so she felt encouraged to continue.

"How did Macnair know who I was?"

Snape's mouth twitched downwards and for a moment, Hermione was afraid Snape would start yelling at her. The thought vanished quickly when she saw his brow knit in concern. He cleared his throat and gave her an appraising look. She tried to gaze levelly back, and whatever he saw in her face seemed to satisfy him as he answered her.

"Miss Granger, you are a muggleborn witch."

"There are plenty of muggleborns, sir—"

"You are also a close friend to Potter. I also mustn't forget to mention that your academic prowess and quickly learned spell work do not escape the notice of the Death Eaters. Your potential to be a powerful witch is disturbing and insulting to them, and your close association with Potter galls the Dark Lord and makes you a target. Had this never occurred to you?"

Hermione looked at him dumbfounded and quietly shook her head. Snape looked at her a little impatiently now, as if he were disappointed she couldn't come to this answer as she had all of her Potions essays.

"Then take my words to heart, Miss Granger. You are a target, and high in the notice of those who would oppose Potter. You should be more cautious from now on."

He turned his back to her and approached the door to Grimmauld Place. Dazed, it took Hermione a moment before she realized he had already entered the house before her. She trotted in obediently behind and heard low, hushed voices coming from the kitchen. It was Snape talking to Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione sighed. She was never going to be let out of the house again.

* * *

Molly Weasley hadn't breathed a word of the incident Hermione was involved in earlier that day, but Hermione could see the concern and paranoia suffused on the older witch's face. For one thing, she barely let Hermione out of her sight. There was always something she needed an extra pair of hands to help her with. Hermione didn't mind, she bent her head and worked at the task on hand, silent.

When it came time for dinner, the twins bounded down the stairs excitedly and gave Hermione conspiratorial winks. She cringed inwardly; the eggs had smashed on the roadside, forgotten. Granted, she had a very good reason for forgetting them, but she didn't want to tell the twins and scrambled for an excuse.

"All right there, 'Mione?"

"Looking good, Granger."

They jostled her playfully, seating themselves on either side of her at the dinner table. Molly gave them disapproving looks, but was soon distracted by the arrival of dinner guests.

"So," Fred looked around surreptitiously, "you got the goods?"

Hermione didn't look up; she pushed her fork around her plate distractedly.

"No."

Their faces fell at the same moment and they groaned in unison. "Aaw, what do you mean, Hermione?"

"They were out."

George looked at her incredulously, "What kind of apothecary runs out of Ashwinder eggs? That's like, an _essential_ item. It's always in stock."

Hermione shrugged moodily, her fork jabbing into the table. "I don't know… they were just out."

"Fred! George! Help me set the table."

They grumbled, but soon relented under the withering gaze of the formidable Mrs. Weasley. Ginny came from downstairs and cheerfully sat beside Hermione. Hermione was glad that meant one less spot Fred or George could occupy at her side.

"I saw Snape in the house earlier, creepy."

Hermione looked up, caught off guard when Ginny addressed her. "Oh… oh, was he?"

"Yeah, Order business you reckon?"

"Probably."

Ginny shrugged, piling potatoes onto her plate. "Whatever, I'm just glad he never stays around for dinner."

Ginny passed the bowl into Hermione's hands. Hermione looked down at the hot food and felt her stomach churn.

"Yeah… yeah, me too."

* * *

Hermione lay awake on her bed, unsure of how long she had been staring up at her ceiling. Moonlight streamed in through the slats of the window curtain and cast shadows on the floor. Ginny snored lightly from the opposite end of the room. She had fallen asleep very soon after her head rested against her pillow.

Hermione's hands were folded on top of her stomach. She was playing the game of how still she could be. Now and again she would look at her hand in the moonlight—the one Macnair had broken. She could see no sign of any injury now; it was perfect, whole.

She heard a noise in the other room.

Hermione looked at the door, puzzled. There was no light streaming in from the hallway; no one in the house had stirred. What was that noise?

She heard it again. It sounded like muffled coughing.

Throwing the covers off to the side, Hermione clambered out of bed and quietly made her way out of her room. The hallway was empty and dark, she could hear snoring coming from the twins' room, but that was all. The noise she had heard before had come from the room right next to hers. It was a small lounge no one used, as Sirius hadn't told Kreacher to clean it yet.

Cautiously, Hermione first pressed her ear against the door in hopes of hearing something, and then slowly turned the doorknob. The room was empty and dark. She saw a shadow move across the wall. Frightened, Hermione found the light switch and abruptly flooded the small lounge with bright light.

She saw someone jump up from a chair, wand pointed directly in between her eyes. It was Snape. Her breath stopped in her throat.

He scowled when he realized who it was. Stowing his wand away in his robes, he sat back down in his chair.

"Miss Granger, you are very lucky I did not hex you. Close the door."

She noticed he sat quite stiffly and was favouring his left side.

"Are you all right, professor?"

"Stop with the asinine questions, Miss Granger, that is none of your business."

His tone was more pained than commanding, and it didn't escape her notice that he had not asked her to leave yet. She remained silent, hoping not to provoke him. She came as close to his chair as she dared, still a few yards apart, and sat down on the floor.

"What are you doing?" He snapped.

""I'm just sitting, sir."

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I'm not sleepy."

She was amazed at how much she was getting away with in front of him. Part of her wasn't surprised, though, as there was a silent acknowledgement between them of what had happened earlier that day. He had been closer to being kind than cruel, and she was sure he would not antagonize her this present moment.

He regarded her somewhat suspiciously from his position on the couch. She tried to remain nonchalant and looked at a spot somewhere behind him. Finally, he spoke.

"How is your hand, Miss Granger?"

"What?"

"Your _hand_, Miss Granger, did you not hear me the first time?"

She looked down at the hand in question; it was softly bathed in moonlight.

"I-It's fine. Sir."

"Fine," he grumbled moodily, "Fine is such an insipid word."

He rose slowly from the couch, she wondered if he had been injured, and then gripped her arm, to her surprise. He hoisted her up to her feet and forcefully guided her out the door.

"Get to your room now, Miss Granger, Molly will have my head if she learns you weren't sleeping on my account."

Hermione struggled slightly in protest, "It's my choice, sir—"

"Don't _argue_," he snarled, face scant inches from hers. She was forced to look straight into his black eyes, and she felt something stir somewhere in her gut. His eyes widened and then narrowed. It was as if there was a recognition passing between his magic and hers.

Without realizing, Hermione leant forward and her lips pressed coldly against his. Their eyes were both painfully open. She was more startled than he was, and after a trance-like moment, quickly backpedaled and broke apart. She expected him to scream at her, but he regarded her quietly.

"I don't hold you in obligation to the life debt you owe me, but if you insist on paying it, I'm afraid that just won't do."

There was a ghost of a smirk so fleeting it could have been a trick of the light. Then he swept from the room and down the hallway. Hermione stood frozen for a full minute before she remembered to move and returned to her room.

She lay on her bed, covers bunched into her hands, and didn't get a wink of sleep at all.


	4. Hades In Flight

**A/N Unbeta-ed as of yet. We revisit Severus.**

CHAPTER FOUR—Hades In Flight

* * *

_"Soon there'll be candles and prayers that are said I know _

_Let them not weep, let them know I was glad to go." _

-"Gloomy Sunday," Rezso Serres

* * *

A shudder went through Severus' body and an ivory hand twitched against the wooden floorboards of the Shrieking Shack. A groan ripped from his abused throat and he felt his gorge rise. Severus laid very still, a throbbing, persistent ache resounding throughout his body, like an ominous bell's tolls ringing from within his very bones. The pool of blood around him was thick and had formed a sticky film from cooling. His index finger twitched, sending small ripples through the crimson.

His eyes opened with a startled snap. Severus' neck felt wooden and it was difficult to move. All of his joints felt rigid and stiff, as if he were a marionette cut free from its strings, instead of breathing flesh. His hand opened and closed slowly, painfully, before it loosened enough to function properly. He struggled to look up from the floor, his chin falling into the blood and causing him to slip.

The Shrieking Shack began to come into focus around him and he looked around in confusion. The scene was distant and surreal. HE could see sunlight … it was the next day. It was not night any longer. How…? Severus managed to prop himself up on his elbows and gaped, aghast. He wasn't supposed to wake up in this world.

His fingers instantly flew to his neck. It was slick with blood, _his _blood, and he felt puncture marks and cuts. So it was real. It had truly happened. He had been bitten by Nagini and had woken from one nightmare into another.

Severus took a moment to suppress the bile rising in his throat. His body felt incredibly weary and he felt awkward in it. It was as if he were learning to control a complex automaton for the first time. His limbs didn't respond with the ease and grace they should have. His movements were jerky and he fell a few times before managing to stand up. His whole body trembled just from the effort of standing and he was surprised and disappointed by this. He was the mewling, puking newborn, staring at its hands in wonder. His hands … his supple grace, now an awkward glove.

Severus found his wand in the pool of blood, and wiped it on the sleeve of his robes. The instant he touched it, the world around him seemed to inhale and ease him back into it. He still felt stiff but his movements became easier. Encouraged, he twirled his wand in the dusty air and gold sparks streamed from its tip.

"_Evanesco_."

The blood vanished from the floor. It was a dizzying relief to know his magic was still his. If he had been stripped of that it would have made his wakening more traumatic. He performed the spell again and managed to clean his face and arms.

What had happened? Why was he here now? Had Voldemort won? Had the Potter boy managed to unravel the memories? Did he learn what had to be done?

_Oh Merlin. That must mean Potter's dead. _

Severus shook his head lightly, as if to banish the thought. No matter how much he despised the boy, abhorred having to see him, he had devoted his whole life to keeping him alive. The thought that it was all over and Potter had died and was with Lily before he had the chance … it was a ridiculous way to think, but he felt his knees weaken and he fell against the Shack's rickety table.

This was too much. He should have died. He was sure he had died. Why was he here now? How could he be here? How was that rationally possible?

The whiff of logic and puzzles was tempting and he clung to it without a moment's hesitation; pulling him from his momentary existential crisis.

As Severus mused over the injuries to his neck, the quantity of blood he had lost and for how long he had been unconscious, he noticed the full-length mirror in the room. He walked over cautiously. The glass was cracked in several places, dirty and dusty. He wiped it with a sleeve and looked at the open wounds on his neck. His fingers traced gently over the ruptured flesh, the small craters, and he stared, mesmerized. Numbly, still unable to tear his eyes away from the wounds, now slowly beginning to bleed again, he tapped his wand to them and muttered a healing spell. The skin closed shut, but the marks were still apparent. They would have to heal fully on their own.

They were the question and the ambiguous answer wrapped in one. How was he still alive after sustaining such injuries? Nagini had punctured an artery, there was no other explanation for the volume of blood he had lost.

Severus shed his bloodstained robes. They were heavy and felt cumbersome on him. They also seemed too much a reminder of his former life. Too much the image of his many roles: traitor, Death Eater, Potions Master. The last thought made him flinch.

He had a white, linen shirt underneath his robes. It was worn and slightly off-colour with age. His blood must have seeped through his robes, he could see dark red blossoms along the collar and shoulder. Another spell and they were scrubbed out. He could only see the ghost of their appearance in the dirty mirror.

Severus looked around the Shack, feeling a little naked and vulnerable, and then decided it was time to leave. His heart galloped as he walked down the Shack's tunnel, and he shrank into himself when he finally emerged into the sunlight. The Whomping Willow was in an unprecedented good mood and did not hit him as he cleared from its striking distance. He looked to see Hogwarts in the distance and his heart lurched. The castle lay in ruins, but there were no Death Eaters patrolling around it. No Dark Mark in the sky.

Potter had won! Potter did it—Potter…

Severus blanched. Potter had seen his most intimate memories. Would he have divulged them to others? Severus would never be able to look anyone who knew in the eye again. He would die of the shame.

A sudden eruption of happy cheers could be heard from the distant castle and that decided Severus. He felt fear smother him and he ran for the forest like a skittish animal. Sticking close to the edge, disguised by the trees, he made his way to a safe Apparition point. Perhaps Potter had decided to redeem him in death after learning his true colours, but living martyrs were unforgivable. Even if he wanted it, he would not be welcome.

Severus was finally off Hogwarts grounds. He held up his wand, turned on the spot, and vanished with a _'pop'_.

* * *

Severus swayed lightly when he reappeared, and looked around at his surroundings momentarily dazed. He had Apparated to the first place that had come to mind. It was the dingy street by his house, Spinner's end. Severus looked around quickly to see if anyone was about, but the whole street was deserted. He quickly walked over to his house and opened the door.

It felt abandoned and neglected. Dust motes swirled in the dim light and Severus waved at the air in front of his face. He hadn't returned to Spinner's End since the summer he had made an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy. His wards hadn't been broken, so it had remained empty since. Severus felt like being in the house was wrong; he knew he wouldn't ever return again and this was his last visit. It was too close to the Evans' old residence, and he couldn't trust Lucius to mind his manners and not skulk around in curiosity. It wouldn't do to be discovered by him.

That is, if Lucius were still alive. It was very likely he had been killed. Severus sighed, the first thing he would need to do was learn who had survived, and subsequently, who he would have to avoid.

Severus went to his room and found some clean clothes. He cast scrutinizing looks around his house to see if there was anything he needed to bring with him. The house and the possessions within it, however, seemed too much like an empty husk. Everything looked as if it would weigh him down. None of it seemed important, helpful, or even like it belonged to him anymore. He would need a clean break, and even the clothes he took to wear would only be kept temporarily. It was in this gloomy state of mind that he thought of his Head of House pin.

His fingers automatically reached up to the front of his shirt. There was no scratchy wool, and no cool metal of the pin. It had meant so much to him, to have the green Slytherin crest glittering by his throat. It was an unquestionable symbol of authority and it commanded respect for the wearer, no matter his past or pedigree. Status…and acknowledgement. Silent, but apparent. It had reminded him during his states of depression and self-loathing that he had achieved something that could not be tarnished by his character.

It had been left behind at Hogwarts; it was probably in his chambers or in his office somewhere. He was shocked to discover that he missed it, and that he regretted not having it with him.

He replaced his bloodstained slacks with a clean pair. He searched through his wardrobe, fingering the few black robes there were and another melancholy was settling in. He couldn't wear these anymore. They made him flinch. These were what he wore at the school, at those thrice-damned revels…what he had worn in the past. Anything, and everything, that had created his previous image now made him recoil. He took a traveling cloak instead, just for the warmth it would provide.

Stepping into his kitchen Severus found a cooking knife on the counter that he must have neglected to put away. Picking it up in his hand, a sudden idea occurred to him, and he looked around for a pair of scissors. Unable to find one, he wasn't even sure if he owned scissors, he went into his bathroom.

Severus looked at himself in the mirror and slowly grabbed a fistful of hair. Two black eyes stared back at him, and pressing the blade against the strand, he slowly sawed it back and forth, the hiss of hair against metal scraping in his ears, until his hand suddenly jerked forward and the hair was free. His fingers slowly uncurled and whispers of black fell into the bathroom sink, jagged edges left by his temple where the hair should have been.

His heart pounded in his throat, there was no turning back now. The feeling was curiously liberating, although he felt a dull ache at the loss of his one vanity. Raising the knife and choosing another strand, he cut again. He could have cut his hair using magic, but it was feeling the blade rasp against the locks, and feeling the loosening and prickling of his scalp that was imperative. The hair fell into the sink, there was so much more than he expected, and it was washed away into the drain, water gushing from the tap.

When Severus finally put the knife down his hair was rough and had jagged edges, but he was barely recognizable. He ran his hand through it in wonder, feeling the edges, caressing the nape of his neck. He felt lighter and more collected. This was the thing he had to do, he had hit upon it finally. He had washed his hands of everything past with unnerving finality through an act as simple as cutting his hair, but it felt right and he felt closure. He ran his hand through it again in an attempt to make it look messier and as if he hadn't brushed it, rather than as if he hadn't cut it well.

Severus closed the door to Spinner's End for the last time, and made his way down the road that led away from his old home. He didn't give it a parting glance.


	5. A Cold Betrayal

**A/N Unbeta-ed as of yet. Next chapter may take a little longer to update (ie it has to be written, heh)**

**On a side note, I hope everyone goes to read the fics now being posted up at the SSHG Exchange!**

CHAPTER FIVE—A Cold Betrayal

* * *

_"Would Hades, implacable Hades,...that powerful thwarting mind that had imagined the terrain of Tartarus, and the bolts of those gates, and dreamed a three-headed dog - could such a mind be turned to mercy by a few notes of music, a few tears?"_

-"The Greek Gods" Evslin, Evslin and Hoopes

* * *

The Hog's Head was unnaturally noisy. Severus pulled his hood further down his face, obscuring his appearance completely. The bartender was generously keeping the ale flowing fast and freely, it seemed every customer was getting free pints. 

Someone pushed a mug into Severus' hand and he wordlessly accepted it. Despite the boisterous celebration, the clientele still kept mainly to themselves, something Severus had counted on, and he was also not the only one to hide his face.

"Are you done with that?"

The wizard passed his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ to Severus and buried his face back into his pint. Severus noticed his fingers were trembling slightly as he smoothed out the front page.

"_Voldemort vanquished by the Boy Who Lived. Potter Triumphant in the battle against the Dark Lord." _

There was a picture of Potter with a crowd of survivors behind him, all cheering. Something curdled in Severus' stomach. How? Potter was the last horcrux, how was he not destroyed?

He quickly flipped through the _Prophet_ and found the list of all who had passed away during the way. Lupin, and his wife Nymphadora. The last Maurader was dead. The thought gave less pleasure to him than he expected. One of the Weasley boys… another one for Molly to mourn.

The Malfoys were still alive; in fact, they weren't being condemned as Death Eaters. They were being given pardons for turning to the Light side during the battle. Severus snorted in derision. Lucius got off with a slap on the wrist, that slippery bastard had wormed his way out of trouble again.

Severus puzzled over the fact that Potter was alive. Dumbledore had been clear that the boy would have to sacrifice himself for the greater good. Was there perhaps something Dumbledore didn't know that saved Potter? Or maybe, something Dumbledore hadn't revealed to him? The thought irked Severus, but then he thought of his own escape from death. He was alive as well. Did Dumbledore know Voldemort would try and make an attempt on his life? Severus mused, he wasn't sure how any manipulation was possible, but there was a small warm feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought that Dumbledore would have made allowances for him as well.

Severus folded the paper and stared broodingly into his pint of bitter. Especially considering the memories Potter had seen, and that Malfoy was walking about, he would have to leave London.

The chimes on the pub door did not deign to chime as he passed through its threshold.

* * *

Hermione almost screamed in frustration as she ran through the Forbidden Forest. It was almost as if the Forest had decided to become twice as more difficult to navigate than it had been the previous night. The more desperate she was to make her way out, the more trouble she had finding her way. Branches continuously obscured her vision and knocked at her arms, and paths would lead her to dead end clearings. 

When Hermione finally saw a break in the trees, she ran forward and tumbled out of the Forbidden Forest, falling to her knees on Hogwarts grounds. Dawn's rich tapestry had already faded away into a clear blue, and the sun shone merrily. Hermione picked herself up and ran across the grass, back towards the Shrieking Shack.

Her heart beat wildly against her ribs, and she felt lightheaded. Falling dizzily to the base of the Whomping Willow, Hermione resolutely ignored the stinging of her skinned palms and crawled into the tunnel leading to the Shack. She had only a moment to wonder whether Professor Snape would welcome a rude intrusion when she stumbled through the rickety door and faced the Shack's dusty room.

It was empty.

There was not even a drop of blood to signify that a corpse had lain on the scratched floor. Hermione fell against the doorframe and closed her eyes, counting slowly to ten and trying to catch her breath. When her heart calmed and began to pulse at a healthier rate, and her breath stopped hitching in her throat, she opened her eyes again. The room was still empty.

Tears were startled from Hermione's eyes. She didn't understand… how was this possible? _He was supposed to be here_.

There was not even a drop of blood on the floor. Hermione dropped to her knees and touched the worn wood desperately. If she hadn't seen the body with her own two eyes she would never have been able to tell it was there.

Not willing to believe the inevitable, Hermione plucked herself up from the ground and ran back to Hogwarts castle. Someone _had_ to have taken the body away while she slept. Perhaps Ron had.

It was approaching the castle that Hermione noticed the large crowd of people gathered on the Western grounds. There were huge mounds of packed earth littering the grassy floor.

Her heart sinking, she quickly ran over.

"There you are. We just started."

Ron made space for her in the packed crowd. Professor McGonagall was standing in front of the crowd and speaking of the war, bravery and beloved buried. It was a memorial service for all who had passed away!

"Ron," she hissed quietly, "Did you take Snape's body?"

"No. I never went back to the Shack."

She frowned. "It's not there anymore."

Ron shrugged. "Well, I didn't do anything about it."

He could see her crestfallen expression and began to feel worried. "Are you all right? I mean, you ran off the other night in a bit of a state and I haven't seen you since — Hermione?"

"It's not there anymore, Ron. The body's disappeared."

"Bodies can't disappear, Hermione — "

"Well his did!"

Some people turned to look at them, and Ron tried to hush her in embarrassment. Hermione looked determinedly at her feet, a little sheepish. Her outburst had been louder than even she expected.

"Look," Ron whispered, "If he's not there, he's here. There's no other place he could be. Someone must have found him and buried him. A bunch of Order members were looking for people who passed away and made a sweep of the entire grounds. He's probably here with everyone else, Hermione."

To Ron's amazement, fat tears formed in her eyes and began to roll miserably down her cheeks.

"'Mione?"

"No, no, no… " She intoned softly.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"He shouldn't be here – he shouldn't be with the others."

Ron patted her shoulder understandingly. "I know, I know. None of them should be here, it's a bloody shame."

"It's not that — it's just not possible he's here."

"Why is it impossible, Hermione?"

She opened and closed her mouth several times, struggling to find what to say. She debated hotly within herself of how much to tell Ron, but soon her throat decided for her. It began to burn and constrict, and soon she was so choked with stifled sobs that she couldn't say anything at all. Ron hugged her close to him, and she was too tired to snap at him or push him away.

* * *

It began to rain. 

No one expected the sudden summer onslaught of sweet, cool water when it came. The skies had been a clear blue and it was in a matter of seconds that the indomitable tapestry darkened and the clouds swelled with moisture. People walking happily in the streets looked up to see the omnipotent sky and danced in the rain. The world's dried blood was washed away with a sweep from the heavens.

Harry and Ron were ensconced inside Gryffindor Tower looking outwards. The rain drummed a steady beat onto the window glass.

"Where's 'Mione?"

Ron shrugged. "I haven't seen her since the memorial. She told me she was going to find Ginny."

"But I just saw Ginny — "

Harry opened the door to their dormitory and poked his head into the Common Room. Ginny was sitting with her friends, laughing. Ron and Harry glanced at each other worriedly and then look out to the pouring rain.

Hermione had looked up into the sky when the rain first started to fall, unable to see it as her vision was obscured by tears. The rain disguised her upset and she freely walked the streets of Hogsmeade without worrying about anyone asking if she were crying.

Her mind was telling her that she was looking for Snape. That he had to be in Hogsmeade somewhere. That he couldn't have gone far from the castle. That this was some grotesque game of hide and seek that they were playing. Her heart and even her legs did not believe it, though they played along. She could only feel a dull ache and a throbbing behind her eyes. Whatever farce she was keeping up, she didn't have the will to end.

Shop owners and people who were celebrating in the Three Broomsticks only gave her curious glances as she was soaking wet. Her hair was bedraggled and covered her face so they did not recognize her as the War Hero they were celebrating. Hermione was thankful she didn't have to speak to anyone.

What had happened? Why was he not there? What had she done wrong?

Fresh tears stung in her eyes and she bit the inside of her cheek angrily. She was a silly girl. Silly and naive to believe that she had managed to bring someone back from the dead. Especially after having seen him die so horribly. Whatever she had dreamt it was merely that, a silly dream. She was clever Granger, the one who always helped the boys with their schoolwork, who always had her nose in a book, and who had helped end the war. Not clever enough to realize when she was deluding herself. None of it felt real or relevant anymore.

She had wandered aimlessly in the rain for an hour before she found herself at the very edge of Hogsmeade. Looking around numbly, she raised her wand and Apparated. She only had a vague notion of where she was going before she disappeared with a 'pop'.

* * *

"_Expecto Patronum!_" 

A silvery dog materialized in front of Bill Weasley and he winced for a split second at the sight of the scars on the dog's face. Those had appeared on his patronus after he was attacked by Greyback. But no matter… that had happened a lifetime ago.

"Go tell Fleur and Molly I am on my way and that the goblins have calmed down."

The dog patronus leapt away into the night.

Bill tugged his coat more closely around him, eyeing the rain. He walked out of Gringotts, ready to Apparate as quickly as possible, when he noticed someone stumbling through the streets in the distance. He frowned. Who was daft enough to walk around in this onslaught?

The figure fell to the ground and stopped moving. Startled, Bill ran over, trying to ignore the rain pouring down on him and sliding down his coat, dampening his shirt. He would dry it later.

Bill was thinking it must be someone who had been a little overenthusiastic celebrating and had drunk themselves silly until he noticed it was a young girl. Dropping down to his knees he pushed wet hair out of her face.

"Hermione?"

"Fl… ourish… Blotts… "

Her eyes were open but she wasn't focusing on anything. Bill quickly took off his coat and threw it around her shoulders. He gently shook her shoulder but she wouldn't move. Scooping her up into his arms he lifted her easily, she was quite light, and Apparated to Hogwarts.

They made quite the dramatic entrance into the Great Hall, dripping, and with bolts of lightning flashing in the sky overhead.

* * *

Hermione was standing in a dark field. 

She heard movement behind her and turned her head to see a silvery doe. It was translucent and stared at her with pale, blank eyes. Hermione tentatively reached forward, but the instant her fingers brushed against its glittering hide it panicked and stomped the grass beneath its hooves.

She drew back her hand and watched in horror as the doe worked itself into a frenzy; thrashing its head from side to side and pounding the ground.

It began to run, and almost as if she were stuck in slow motion, Hermione turned her head to watch it run headlong into a barbed-wire fence. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound issued forth.

The barbed wire ensnared the silver doe cruelly, black ribbons of blood shimmering on its translucent hide. Despite being entangled amongst the hideous spikes, the doe continued to throw itself bodily against the fence, wanting break out onto the other side.

Hermione was screaming and screaming and screaming…

* * *

"Hush now, love, you're all right." 

Molly looked worriedly at Ginny and then back down at Hermione, who had been thrashing wildly in her bed. Hermione eventually calmed under Molly's soothing voice and stilled. Fast asleep.

"How long has she been like that?" Molly asked.

"Not too long, five minutes maybe."

Molly looked concernedly, but fondly, down at the sleeping girl. She ushered Ginny out of the room.

"Best we leave her to rest, now that she's quieted. Poor darling must have been having a nightmare — and no wonder too."

Ginny looked puzzled at the closed door leading to her friend's room.

"She kept screaming, 'you lied, you lied'."


	6. Tomorrow I'll Miss You

**A/N Unbeta-ed as of yet. Sorry for the wait. And no, I'm not German, so my grasp of the language is non-existent. If anyone can guess where the village and pub name come from, you get an e-cookie.**

CHAPTER SIX—Tomorrow I'll Miss You

* * *

_"'Beautiful creatures like to be seen,' said the eldest. 'It is the nature of beauty to be seen. Only ugliness hides itself away.'_"

-"The Greek Gods" Evslin, Evslin and Hoopes

* * *

Hermione woke with the sour taste of dried spit in her mouth. She swiped the back of her hand across her lips and propped herself up on an elbow. Her head hurt. She was wondering what could possibly have woken her when she heard the sound of flapping by her window. Scrambling out of bed, she ran over to let a brown owl into her dormitory room. 

"Now why haven't you come through the Great Hall?" She mused, taking the letter clamped in its beak. The Ministry of Magic's crest was embossed on the envelope. Hermione's hands trembled slightly.

"What's this?"

Her eyes quickly skimmed over the letter's contents and then she shut them tightly, counting to ten. Opening her eyes again, she gazed down at the letter it confirm it wasn't a dream.

With a happy shriek she rushed out of the dormitory room in search of her friends, her previous despair almost forgotten.

* * *

"The Ministry wants to hire me!" 

Ron and Harry jumped slightly in their seats, startled by Hermione's sudden entrance. The letter flapped merrily in her hand as she waved it about in the air.

"Give it here."

Harry took the letter and carefully read it out loud.

"Dear Miss Hermione Granger,

Upon receipt of your N.E.W.T.S results, the Ministry of Magic requests your presence for a work placement interview."

Harry didn't bother to read the automated end greeting, but gazed up at Hermione excited, and slightly in shock. "They haven't even picked the new Minister yet, and they're already recruiting you!"

"It _is _Hermione we're talking about here."

Ron and Harry looked excitedly at one another and then grabbed Hermione's arms. They dragged her out of the Gryffindor common room and to the former Headmaster's office.

"Well come on! We have to go tell Professor McGonagall!"

All the remaining members of the Order ended up congregated in the office, Professor McGonagall in the middle, a little teary-eyed. When Kingsley arrived she shoved the letter into his hands and asked him what he thought of it. While everyone had been quick to congratulate Hermione, they were all still puzzled over one thing. Who was this letter from? The Ministry was in supposed chaos.

Kingsley read through the letter slowly and then folded it carefully. "There's only one department that functions autonomously from the Ministry and wouldn't be affected by the vacant Minister's position."

Realization dawned on Hermione's face.

Kingsley had a small frown on his face as he handed the letter back to Hermione. He looked at her thoughtfully and then nodded to himself. "It seems the Unspeakables wish to recruit you, Hermione."

There was a small buzzing around the room as everyone reacted to the news. Some looked delighted. Some looked disturbed. Hermione's face was completely blank.

"Are you all right, Hermione? What are you thinking?"

Hermione looked at Ron and Harry a little dazed. "I don't know… everything before this morning seems so much like a bad dream."

* * *

Severus cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder and then brought out a small teacup from his pocket. He was standing at the back of a shop in muggle London, hidden from the busy streets. Tapping the cup with his wand, he muttered, "_Portus_". He knew he would only have a few minutes and quickly touched the handle of the porcelain cup. 

He felt a jerk behind his navel and vanished instantly from the spot. He grit his teeth, waiting for the squeezing sensation to stop, and just when he felt he wouldn't be able to handle any more, he felt firm ground beneath his feet and stumbled onto grass.

His head was spinning and he felt extremely tired. Making the

Portkey had used up a substantial portion of his magical reserve as he had just traveled a longer distance than normal. However, he could not afford to waste time, and picked himself up from the ground. He could hear the sound of water and soon found a small lake. Hurrying over to gravelly bank, he smashed the teacup against the rocks. It shattered easily into small pieces, and he pushed them into the gently lapping water. That would have to do.

Enjoying the feel of the shockingly cold water against his hand, Severus cupped some and splashed it against his face. He rubbed a slick hand against his sticky neck and felt pleasantly cool. Walking back to the grass, he lay down and stretched himself out against the ground. Digging his wand out from his pocket, he contemplated it against the backdrop of a blue sky, and then snapped it. He could almost feel something inside him twinge at the sound of cracking wood, but quickly dismissed it. Feeling the crumbling dirt beside him, he propped himself up on an elbow and dug a shallow hole into the dirt. He had to break his wand into smaller fragments to make it fit inside the small recess, but it soon did and he covered it back up with the loose soil.

He heard a few 'pop's in the distance, and contentedly laid his head down on the grass again. It felt nice and cool against him, he fancied taking a nap.

Severus closed his eyes and could hear indistinct murmuring, and the sound of footsteps drawing closer to him. It was only a few more moments before a boot toe was nudging his shoulder. He waited another moment before opening his eyes to see the faces of two wizards.

The one who had nudged him asked him something in German. Severus just smirked and shook his head. The two wizards consulted each other, and then gestured for him to sit up. He thought for a moment about resisting, but then obliged them. They had their wands drawn.

The first one asked him something again, although this time he spoke slower and louder. Severus shook his head again, laughing inwardly at the spectacle, and then clearly enunciated, "English", while pointing to himself.

Realization dawned on the two wizard's faces and they nodded to each other. They tapped their wands to their ears and mouth, uttering a translation charm.

"Englishman?" The first one asked.

"Yes."

"What are you doing here?"

Severus smirked. "Having a nap."

The second one cocked his head. "In the middle of a field?"

Severus shrugged. "I do enjoy the fresh air."

"Where's your wand?" The first one asked.

Severus shook his head again and presented his empty hands. The two looked at each other knowingly, and then back at him again.

"He couldn't have done it."

Severus could only chuckle inside his head.

"Did you see anyone come by?"

"No, I was looking at the clouds."

They sniggered at that and left him alone, searching through the grass. They cast charms to detect traces of recently performed magic, but Severus was sure all traces of him had already dispersed and dissipated.

They came perilously close to the lake, pushing the gravel around with their boot toes. The search was quickly deemed fruitless, however, and they made their way back to Severus. He sighed inwardly with relief.

"You've just come here then/"

Severus nodded.

"Have you been here before? Do you know your way around?"

Severus regarded them carefully before slowly drawling, "I haven't seen much apart from the train station."

The two wizards chuckled again, amused by the coolly confident man.

"I would appreciate it if you could perhaps direct me to an inn or hostel?"

They clapped him on the back and helped him to his feet. One tapped his ear and mouth with his wand, explaining it would be easier to charm him into understanding German, rather than the entirety of the wizarding village to understand English. They walked, instead of Apparating, and Severus had the change to fully appreciate the quaint little community. They caught a glimpse of Muggle Germany on the periphery of the village, and Severus thought it rather resembled Muggle London. Modern cities all looked the same.

Die Brucke, the wizards called the town, was similar enough to Hogsmeade despite the difference in architecture and products in the storefronts. They steered him into the direction of a squat, stone-bricked inn. It had a wizard riding a horse, all painted in blue, as its sign. It was called: _Der Blaue Riter_.

The clientele glanced up curiously at their entrance, but then went back to their pints and papers. The innkeeper was the only woman in the establishment.

Severus' two guides brought him over to the innkeeper, who was wiping down mugs. Her skin was coarse and dark, like one who had worked their entire life out in the sun. Her eyes were clear and sharp, though, and she scrutinized him like a hawk.

"He needs lodging, he's from England."

She raised an eyebrow as if under-whelmed. Severus glared back, unmoved.

She crooked a finger and beckoned his two guides over to talk to her in closer proximity. They murmured together, and one of the wizards looked back at Severus as he uttered a single, guttural word. The translation charm took a moment to recognize the term and interpret it into something Severus could understand. When it finally processed, he heard the word "squib" ring in his ears. He cringed inwardly. He knew going into this that masquerading as a squib was going to be difficult. He would just have to learn quickly if the Germans held a deeper prejudice against them than the English did.

"Be good to Chloe now, she's wicked fast with a wand.'

They jostled him playfully on their way out, the chimes above the door tinkling at their exit. Severus stared moodily at their backsides until they disappeared, before directing his faze to the innkeeper, Chloe.

She still had that scrutinizing look on her face, considering him as she wiped down mugs. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she set down her cloth and seemed satisfied with what she saw.

"Come on." She jerked her head towards a flight of stairs behind the bar. Severus followed her up the small flight to see a small corridor.

"Bathroom. Bedroom." She pointed them out before descending downstairs. "I'll be back in a minute, I have to close shop."

Severus cautiously opened the door to the bedroom, stifling his surprise. It was her bedroom, the signs of a woman's long-time occupation were all too apparent. He quickly shut the door, as if afraid of intruding. He searched the corridor for another bedroom in vain; he only found a small linen closet and kitchenette.

Finally tired, he stepped into the small bathroom. It was cramped and old and smelled slightly of mold. Still, it was clean. He turned on the taps and splashed his face with cool water. Over the sound of running water he heard Chloe coming up the stairs again, and then felt her presence by his side soon after. She regarded him coolly from the doorway.

"You need a haircut."

"I've already had a haircut."

She gave him a wry smile and then plucked her fingers through his uneven hair, amused. He saw himself in the mirror and had to admit the cut was rather rough.

"Here." She brought out a small stool and gestured or him to sit. He complied meekly but then held up a hand when she brought out her wand.

"Could you do it with scissors?'

She gave him a puzzled look, but then stowed the wand away. "Have you only ever cut your hair with scissors?"

When he didn't respond, he fancied he saw compassion flitter across her face. She thought he was intimidated by magic, it being a foreign element to a squib. This wasn't the case, but Severus was still determined to stay as divorced from his magical past as possible. He also felt the ritual he had begun by cutting his hair had to end in a similar fashion.

She brought out a small pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet. Running her fingers under the sink tap, she damped his hair. The cold droplets caused his scalp to tingle and he felt his body temperature give a pleasant drop.

She ran her fingers through his hair and then began to snip. The sharp blades lightly skimmed across his head, and each time he felt his muscles tense and a tingle go up his spine. There was the tension of whether the scissors would cut him and the release when they severed his hair instead. He could feel the warmth of her body behind him. He could feel stirrings of awakening in his sleeping groin. He hadn't been touched by a woman in years.

"There," she said and put down the scissors. His hair was much neater and tapered at the back. She allowed some 'swish' to the front locks and a few, stray tendrils obscured his eyes.

"Thank you."

"It's _danke._" With that she banished the hair and pulled him up from the stool. She wasn't ignorant to the reactions her ministrations had on him and felt no shame in exploiting them. He followed her willingly to the bedroom.

* * *

Severus lay beside Chloe in her bed, wrapped up in a separate blanket she had brought for him. After their first sticky fumbling, she had cooked some food for him and even drew him a bath. It was he that sought the comfort in her arms after, and she did not refuse him. By then it was night and they lay sleeping. 

Wasn't Chloe afraid of letting strange men into her bed? Didn't she leave herself vulnerable by allowing someone she had barely known for a day into her house? The questions puzzled him for only a moment until he saw the wand-holder beside her bed. Her magic was always within arm's reach and he, a squib, wouldn't be able to handle a wand anyway. His supposed inability effectively neutered him of all danger, and she was the one in control. If Severus balked at being placed in such a position, it was only for a moment and quickly replaced with a warm contentment.

He could always steal her wand, but he didn't want to. He was content to live like this. Not as in live with Chloe, Merlin above, but like _this_ – comfortable and detached. Not always alone. Perhaps he had thought too badly of his reawakening. Perhaps he would enjoy a second life after all.

All pleasant thoughts he had vanished upon sleeping.

In his sleep Severus was dead. Whether it was a dream or not was difficult to discern. All Severus knew was that it was the most peaceful he had ever felt. Where was his body? He had no body. Was he thinking? No. No thought or fear or anguish trickled through his mind. He was floating in a complete absence of substance and light. He was dead. He was in an infinite plane of sleep and he never wanted to leave.

A shaft of light broke his serenity. He could feel his eyelids warm from the heat of light. Consciousness slowly crept back into his being. No, _no!_ He did not want to _be_. He did not want to leave this place – waking ripped him away from inky rest and back into the world of heaving chests, tangled limbs and the unendurable torture of thought.

Severus looked up at the ceiling, panting and sweating. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to go back.

Closing his eyes tight, his teeth gritting, he silently cursed whatever fool god saw fit to grant him life again.

* * *

Hermione sat by her room window, looking at the moon. 

It had been a day bustling with the miracle of having too many things to distract her so she hadn't a second's pause to ruminate on her gamble with death. It was only now, in the hours she should be sleeping, that she had time alone with her thoughts.

Plans for Hogwarts to be rebuilt were already underway. Professor McGonagall had ambitions for the school to be re-opened for the next academic year. The Ministry was in an uproar, and the Wizengamot had already isolated itself in its meeting hall to determine who should be nominated to succeed Scrimgeour as Minister. Everyone was sure that the person the Wizengamot named would receive the position without question.

Everyone, Hermione included, would only be sleeping at Hogwarts for a few nights longer. Then Molly was going to take everyone back to the Burrow. When things began to settle down Hermione would have to take her N.E.W.T.S. Ron and Harry were still deciding whether or not they wanted to take theirs with her or go back to Hogwarts for the year they had missed. Hermione suspected Harry would return; he missed the school so much and had thrown himself into rebuilding it. Ron would probably follow suit.

The wizarding world was rebuilding itself. It was reveling in a modern renaissance and everyone was swept up into it.

The letter in Hermione's hand fluttered in the night breeze.

There. That was _her _beginning. The letter. The job with the Unspeakables. Her life during the war, her life of running and fighting, as a student and as a child was over.

Was her life of regrets and "I should have" and fanciful notions gone as well? If she accepted the letter and took a job with the Ministry she'd be taking a step into an unknown future. But she'd be going forward.

Hermione looked at what she could see of the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack below it. What good would it do to dwell on some dream she had in the Forbidden Forest? It must have been a dream and nothing more. Wishful thinking on her part that she had done the impossible and tricked death. Foolish of her to even think it – even she wasn't _that _clever. Besides, she could be charged with necromancy for dabbling in such things.

Resolved, Hermione pushed all thought of Professor Snape to the darkest corner of her mind. She would only the view the incident as a demonstration of her own folly. The world was starting up again and she didn't want to be left behind for chasing the memory of a dead man.

Hermione finally fell asleep, the letter tucked underneath her pillow. She dreamt of a dying silver doe and woke up the next morning not remembering, and confused as to where the tears drying on her face had come from.


	7. New Faces

**A/N** What? A new chapter? Surely it can't be!

Life has been funny and busy and insane, and this long fell to the wayside as did a lot of my writing in general. But stranger things have happened and I found the outline for this fic in one of my old notebooks and decided to go through it again. The chapters already posted make me cringe in spots, but I believe in leaving things up as a record of progress. Chapter Seven was written, actually, many years ago, but I have cleaned it up and made it fit for posting. Several other chapters are half-written, and with some tinkering I hope to have them follow soon. This story was always written with a very clear ending in mind, and it seems it goes once more from "possibly abandoned" to "a very long hiatus".

For those who have been reading this from the beginning, my endless thanks.

* * *

Chapter Seven - New Faces

_Little white flowers shall never awaken you  
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you_

-Gloomy Sunday

* * *

The sound of Hermione's footsteps were the loudest noise in the still morning air, echoing and reverberating off the stone walls of Hogwarts castle. She had woken before everyone else, and unable to bear sitting alone in the dark, she had gone for a walk down the familiar hallways she had grown up in.

The thought still hadn't sunk in yet … that this would be her last day at Hogwarts.

She was sure of it now; she wouldn't be coming back. She would take her NEWT'S at the end of the week, and then go in for the interview with the Unspeakables. With the wizarding world slowly waking to a new dawn, it was with the Department of Mysteries that Hermione felt she would find her place. And now it was only a matter of saying goodbye to the things she would leave behind.

Looking up she realized her feet had wandered to the old Potions classroom. The room was a mess, it had taken its toll during the battle on Hogwarts. Workstations had been turned over, cauldrons upset and the storage room looked as if a tornado had gone through it.

Hermione quickly walked over with her wand out, worried that some ingredients upset from their containers could possibly pose a hazard. Who knew what other rare and dangerous things Snape kept in his private stores apart from the boomslang skin she had stolen in her second year?

The shelves had collapsed and broken jars littered the floors. With a few quickly cast spells she managed to clean most of the mess up, banishing most of the spilled ingredients. Walking over to the private store cupboard, she noticed its doors had been blasted open. On the floor directly below it was a small clay jar, small enough that she could have easily wrapped one hand around it, with a large crack down its middle.

Curious, Hermione knelt down to examine it more closely. It was housing a measure of cloth. Moving away the corners with the tip of her wand, she saw something sparkling within the folds of the cloth. It was a brooch.

Hermione sucked in sharply when she realized what it was. It was the Slytherin Head of House pin. Tucked safely away and only by chance recovered.

She picked it up, examining it in the few rays of light the dungeon allowed. It glittered emerald green and silver, the beautifully crafted snake twined around the Hogwarts shield almost seemed alive. Snape must have hidden it away for safe-keeping…

Something overcoming her, Hermione obeyed the impulse to tuck the small pin away into the folds of her robes, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world and nestled near her heart.

Staring out the window of the Hogwarts Express, she didn't hear a word of what Harry or Ron were saying. A sense of gravity had settled over her that did not allow her to do anymore that day but say over and over in her soul, _goodbye, goodbye, goodbye._

* * *

"Stanton, do you know if we ordered another shipment of Ashwinder eggs?"

"I'm unpacking them right now."

Reinhardt grunted his approval and quickly scribbled this into his ledger. Whistling for his owl, Goethe, he wrote a short letter to one of his customers to notify her that her order had been received by the shop and she could come by any time to pick it up. Opening the door for his owl, he watched as it flew out and into the skies of the quaint Die Brucke village. Smiling, he walked back inside _Zutaten für Medizin_.

"It seems Frau Lange is trying to brew love potions again."

His assistant, who had only been working in his shop for a few weeks now, smiled wryly as he packaged an impressive number of the brilliant orange and pink eggs. He was quite a find, one of Chloe's strays, and had already won over the good graces of his employer with his quiet demeanour and willingness to work. An Englishman, and could be mistaken for nothing else with a name like Stanton Sommerville. Incredibly knowledgeable when it came to the ingredients and various magical supplies Reinhardt kept in his _apotheker_, fluent enough in conversational German to serve customers who spoke no English, and without ever the risk of causing trouble. It had incited Reinhardt to generously offer Samuel the spare room above the shop for free. The wages he could pay the man were on the meager side after all.

"We're running low on unicorn hairs, so I've written up a request for the stables. And the bubotubers we have are very old and due to expire in a week."

Stanton carried a small wooden crate filled with jars that contained different powdered roots, shifting it over to one arm as he gave Reinhardt the orders he had drafted.

Reinhardt barely skimmed them over, already nodding. "I'm due to pay Joachim a visit today anyway, I'll ask after the unicorn hairs. You can close shop; it's been a slow day."

Stanton nodded soberly, not as delighted at the prospect as Reinhardt had initially anticipated. He gave his assistant the once-over. Quiet, a very quiet man, with something simmering under his calm, professional demeanour that Reinhardt had only seen surface once or twice. It always seemed to lurk somewhere, though, in those eyes … black, and boundless like a well.

He measured his words carefully. Knowing a thing or two about solitary men who didn't display their emotions on their sleeves, he had an inkling that part of Stanton's hidden intrigue was a dark sense of pride. "Don't worry … if you have any trouble you can go to Egon next door. I'm sure you'll be able to handle anything, though."

Stanton nodded once, briskly, before returning to his task at hand. Reinhardt gave him one more thoughtful look before leaving him alone to his duties.

"Stanton" ran a hand through his hair, coal-black with a very light smattering of gray beginning to form at his temples. He kept it short, but a strand or two would fall out of place to curtain his eyes. He would need to cut it again soon. He had grown a full-beard, very neatly trimmed, in keeping with the tradition of the men in this locality, and it gave him a sense of quiet authority that at least kept most wagging tongues from confronting him deliberately to his face.

Severus had picked up enough German to speak conversationally, but he understood more of what he heard than he could convey himself. Sidelong glances, pointed remarks to Reinhardt, a refusal to acknowledge him or even the pointed effort to make him speak … he knew that in this little village he was allowed to stay but only as a stranger. A _schwulen_, their word for squib. And it held an unfortunate similarity with the German term for a faggot or queer. It seemed that every wizarding community held the same prejudice for the ones unexpectedly without gift.

Sighing, he finished stocking the shelves and returned the crate to the back storeroom. Severus was fine with this arrangement. Once he had learned to remind himself that his status as once being a powerful wizard was part of a life he was trying so hard to escape, the double standard he lived by now was not so hard to bear. Settling himself behind the apothecary counter, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and donned a pair of slim spectacles and began to read.

An hour or so passed and he was about to close shop for the night when a pair of boys walked in. They wore Durmstrang robes and Severus raised an eyebrow. That school was very far from Die Brucke … but he didn't think the school year had started yet, so perhaps they were just preparing to leave home.

They brought over a small handful of owl and eagle feathers to the counter, jostling each other for the coin purse.

"Wieviel macht das?"

Severus looked over at the small bundle. "Vier sickles."

They paid him in a jumbled, unorganized pile of coins as he wrapped the feathers in some brown paper. Giving them back a few knuts in change, they promptly deposited it into the tip jar and left, gabbling at each other too rapidly for him to make out more than snippets of their conversation.

Something twinkled in the jar, catching Samuel's attention. He peered in, seeing something shining amongst the copper, and fished out a ring. It was thin and silver, with a small green stone adorned in the center. Turning it this way and that in the light, Severus could see it was not a precious stone but merely coloured glass, or unrefined crystal.

Something passed over his face at the familiar pairing of colours. Part of him wanted to drop the ring back into the jar, but finally he slipped it onto one of his own slender fingers.

The past was too far away that he could allow himself this one, little keepsake.

* * *

Hermione nervously sat on the stone bench, doing her best not to fidget or bite her nails. She wasn't too sure whether casual business attire appropriated to the same view as professional to wizards, so she had opted instead just to wear black robes.

Just entering into the waiting room of the Department of Mysteries was awe-inspiring. Their offices and headquarters seemed to occupy the very catacombs of the Ministry of Magic. She had been led down a stone hallway, glittering blue with the flicker of enchanted lamps. It was a bit colder down here too, the stone seeming to slowly leech out every ounce of warmth she had.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a tall wizard with auburn hair came out of the door and told her to come in.

Hermione, thinking it must finally be time for her interview, followed him eagerly through the impressive stone door carved into the wall she had been staring at for the past hour, only to be plunged into darkness.

Confused, she blinked and the room brightened a second later. The wizard had gone. She turned around; the doorway she expected to see behind her wasn't there either. What was going on? Her wand was already out of her robes sleeve, ready at a moment's notice.

It was then Hermione fully appreciated the room she was in. It was entirely made out of polished glass. It was as if she were inside a cut diamond, the room was shaped like an octagon. Eight wall facets, glimmering, the ceiling and the floor as well. She saw her surprised face eight times over. It was like walking around inside a very large mirror.

"What …?"

In wonder, she approached the mirror walls, running her fingers along the surface. To her surprise, the surface gave way under her fingers, as if made of goo. Withdrawing her fingers she saw her reflection ripple before settling back into a crisp image. Trailing her fingers along the walls, she navigated around the entire room. All the mirrors gave way into that liquid ease until she reached the very last one. The panel that replaced the door she had entered the room in. It was solid and smooth. Hermione ran her fingers along its edges, knocking on the glass with her knuckles, hoping to find something – anything that would give her purchase.

Curiouser and curiouser…

Stepping back, Hermione held up her wand and directed it to the true glass mirror. "_Reducto_."

A red beam of light shot out of her wand, hit the glassy surface and then bounced off its surface, ricocheting directly back to her. With a yelp, Hermione fell to the floor, narrowly missing her rebounded curse, and watched as it hit one of the liquid panels only to be absorbed. Shaking, she slowly got to her feet. Raising her wand she cast a shielding charm on herself before directing it once more. This time, to one of the liquid panels.

"_Reducto_."

The panel absorbed the red beam of light with a ripple.

This was the beginning of some sort of puzzle. Hermione mused on what this experimentation had just taught her. She paced the floor, wand tapping against her arm as she turned the laws of this curious room over and over in her mind.

Hermione looked down at her own feet, the mirrored floor casting her own eyes back at her. Who would create such a curious room and to what purpose? And why had she been brought here? And would she be able to leave again?

Hermione paused, something having flashed by in the corner of her eye. Backtracking, she looked down at the floor's glossy surface only to see her reflection suddenly vanish out of sight and reappear again.

_What …?_

Slowly, walking with small, measured steps, she circumnavigated a small boundary in which the floor did not reflect her. It showed the ceiling and nothing more. Hermione's head hurt and she had to close her eyes for a second as she realized she was finally looking at the answer to: what do two mirrors reflect when facing each other directly? The dazzling portal of light and … _absence_ was difficult to comprehend and she found she couldn't stare at that one blind spot for too long. But, she was sure she had found the key to this riddle.

"_Reducto_." The red beam shot upward and disappeared into the ceiling.

Hermione looked at the one mirror panel that did not give way to touch. Glancing quickly down at the floor to ensure she was standing on the boundary of the blind spot, she raised her wand to the wall mirror. Working out the angles in her head, she lowered her wand accordingly.

"_Reducto!_"

The spell bounced off the mirror's surface and blasted into the blind spot, causing a small explosion of shattered glass. Hermione held an arm up to her face to shield herself before remembering she had already taken those necessary precautions. The detritus bounced harmlessly off the shield charm she had placed on herself.

Moving the shattered glass away with her foot she saw the handle of a door built into the ground. Tugging on it, it swung open to reveal a trap door and a flight of stairs that spiralled downward. Feeling a thrill of triumph, she descended the stairs.

When Hermione reached the bottom of the staircase it was to be met with the bewildered expression of a scruffy wizard working behind a desk. In fact, his desk was one of many, and there were other witches and wizards flitting about. A tall wizard, the one who had led her into the room, clapped his hand to the other's shoulder.

"Told you she'd figure it out." He grinned.

The seated wizard, the scruffy one, suddenly beamed with delight and got up from behind his desk, extending his hand to her. It was then Hermione noticed an hourglass, half-empty, on his desk.

"Perinor Phonapan, at your service, Miss Granger. My goodness, your reputation precedes you."

She shook his hand, bewildered. "My pleasure, I'm sure."

The tall wizard shook her hand as well, still with that self-satisfied grin on his face. "Peregrin Phonapan. His brother."

"Please forgive us. That happens to be a test every Department candidate must undergo, although I do say – no one's managed it quite as well as you. You still have over an hour left on your time!"

Hermione gaped. "You mean, you would have left me in there for another hour?"

Perinor shrugged. "If you couldn't figure it out, yes."

"And if I had injured myself?"

Perinor shrugged again. "No one's ever died in there yet. As I said, you've managed it well. Very well. Some of us got through merely by blasting the entire place apart and having one of our shots hit the target by fluke."

Hermione looked flustered and Peregrin gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

"You've passed your interview with flying colours. Miss Granger, welcome to the Department of Mysteries."


End file.
